


Touches

by peachpetrichor



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, M/M, Oblivious Thomas, cheesy af, pining minho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 18:16:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6481591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachpetrichor/pseuds/peachpetrichor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Minho takes his frustrations about pining over Thomas out onThomas. Thomas does not take this well. Unbeta'd.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touches

They touched each other a lot. 

It was always delicate fingers tracing practiced patterns over bare skin, hands splaying against warm backs, noses nestled into collar bones and so on. 

They held hands in private, and leaned against each other consistently out in the open.

In the maze, during breaks, someone was always rubbing at the others shoulders or temples, or combing gentle fingers through tangled tufts of hair. 

It was nothing sexual, or even romantic, really. To them, it was their own unspoken pact. To keep each other warm, and to shield each other from the ache of loneliness the glade seemed ever so happy to provide.

You didn’t talk about that sort of thing in the glade. How god awful you wanted to be touched without resentment or malcontent. Just touched, coddled, held onto. 

It started a few weeks in to their daily runs. They’d sit for a moment, just long enough to catch their breath and down some water, and Thomas would brace himself against Minho’s shoulder. Brace himself, rest against him, maybe press his head into Minho’s shoulder without really thinking about it.

Minho thought that maybe he should mind, because teenage boys didn’t lean on each other like that. It felt too close for the maze, too safe, too warm. But he didn’t mind, couldn’t even help but do the same thing sometimes.

Eventually they started sitting like that outside of the maze. Just to be close, to be near each other. And the guys would crack jokes, ask when the wedding was, imply what they were doing wasn’t as innocent as it felt. Somehow that only pushed them closer to each other.

They were glued at the hip, like dirt to tree sap. 

When they ate, they ate together, picking off of each other’s plates. When they bathed, they bathed together, back to back, shoulder blades barely touching as they washed themselves. And of course, they slept together, facing each other with their faces just a breath a part. Their togetherness became such a thing of routine, that the only time they ever got second glances was when they were apart. If Thomas was alone the first question he’d get was ‘where’ Minho?’ and if Minho was alone the first question he would ask was ‘Did you see where Thomas went?’

Minho, stoic as he tried to be, began to second guess his attachment to Thomas whenever the other boy wandered off. Was this thing they had only one sided? Was he reading him wrong? Was he getting tired of him? He felt stupid, chewing on his lower lip with anxiety pressing against his gut. Why was he so attached to him anyway? He’d been just fine in the glade before Thomas came around so why did he need him so badly now?

Thomas, of course, was oblivious, completely contented with their relationship without needing an explanation for it, and unaware of the effect he had on his counterpart whenever they were separate. They were never really apart for more than a few hours anyway.

So Minho’s anxiety grew, slowly, and he over compensated to hide his emotions, snapping angrily at Thomas whenever anything mild went wrong. Minho was supposed to be the stronger of the two, the smarter, and more level headed, but eventually Thomas could tell that he was off. Irritated. Tired almost. 

“Jesus Thomas can’t you fucking watch where your stepping,” Minho hissed between pants, trying to catch his breath after escaping with Thomas from an especially menacing greiver.

“I said I was sorry!” Thomas snapped back, notably exhausted as the left the maze for the night.

“Sorry isn’t gonna be good enough when you get one of us killed in there,” he retorted as they made their way to map out that days distance.

“I’m not gonna get us killed,” Thomas mumbled.

Minho snorted, “Yeah right, you’re so fucking clumsy I’m surprised we’re not dead yet.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Thomas said, a feeble attempt to end the conversation.

“Why, so you can screw up again?”

“Fuck you.”

“No, fuck you,” Minho called after Thomas who had already stormed out of the tent.

He deflated as soon as he knew Thomas was gone. 

“Fuck ” he mumbled to himself. “Fucking shit.” He threw down his pencil and sat, pulling at fistfuls of his hair angrily. Why had he done that? He wasn’t even mad at Thomas. He didn’t blame him for the greiver, didn’t think he was clumsy, didn’t believe that Thomas would ever do anything to intentionally put them in danger.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. It was all getting to be too much, he needed desperately to put an end to his poor behavior, to reassure himself that Thomas didn’t hate him.

His heart ached, and he didn’t know why.

When he finally found Thomas, he was already asleep, just like everyone else in the glade. He crawled into bed beside him, as usual, and tried not to get angry again when Thomas opened his eyes, scrunched up his nose, and turned away from him.

“Thomas?”

One minute, and then two, and no answer.

“Tommy c’mon. Will you at least look at me please?”

Thomas sat up, soft to the nickname, though his cheeks still burned with anger. “Why so you can rag on me again?” he spit, and the ache in Minho’s chest grew deeper.

“Tommy, I’m sorry.”

Thomas snorted.

Minho sat up.“I am, I’m really sorry. Not just for today, but for the way I’ve been acting lately.”

Thomas looked at him, untrusting. “Why have you been such a dick lately?” 

Minho opened his mouth to say he didn’t know, apologize again, but for no reason at all the truth he’d been hiding from even himself came out instead.

“Because I want more, and I know I can’t have it, and it hurts.”

“More what, Min?” Thomas furrowed his eye brows, even more confused than before. “Than the maze? We’re gonna get out ok I know-”

“No Tommy, of you. I want more of you I’m greedy- God I’m such an idiot,” he pressed his face down into his hands. “I think I’m gay. I think I’m in love with you.”

Thomas stared at him, slack jawed and red, unable to fully process Minho’s out of nowhere confession.

“Min, I-”

“I know,” Minho said, holding up his hands. “You don’t have to tell me, I know you’re not into guys. I’m not expecting anything, I just had to get it off my chest. I’ll go ok?” He averted his eyes as he spoke, embarrassed and a little ashamed.

“Woah woah woah wait. I wasn’t gonna say that I,” Thomas paused. He didn’t really know what he had planned to say. Thanks but no thanks lets go to sleep? Ok? He didn’t even know if he was in to girls let alone guys. He could have been asexual for all he knew.

But he liked Minho . Minho was special. He bit his lip and looked away.

“We- I mean I dunno we could try. To be more than friends I mean.” 

It was Minho’s turn to stare. “Try?”

“Like we could. We could kiss or something if you want,” he trailed off, face as red as a beat.

Minho pursed his lips. He could never have predicted that Thomas would be willing to do anything like that with him. He suppose he just assumed the other boy was straight. Sort of the same way he’d assued he was straight until Thomas came along. He crawled towards Thomas decisively, taking up the offer. 

“Ok,” he said.

Thomas squeezed his eyes shut, and leaned forward tentatively, his heart beat fluttering in and out of existence. 

Minho stood on his knees in front of Thomas, and lifted his chin towards him. He leaned down until their noses touched, brushing his lips against Thomas, breathing deeply through his nose. And then, gathering all the courage he had left, pressed his lips gently in to Thomas’. They stayed like that for a moment before Minho greedily backed up and did it again, and again, stealing three or four more soft kisses before sitting back down on his heels.

Thomas opened his eyes when he sure it was over. He wet his lips quickly, hands shaking ever so slightly. His face was awash with the blood that rose to his skin, heart hammering nails into his ribs.

“How was that?” Minho asked, his voice no more than a whisper.

Thomas swallowed. “I t-think I’d like to do that more often if its ok with you.”

Minho grinned elated, and answered the request with a dozen more chaste kisses.

They touched a lot, those two.


End file.
